


chewing on your taste

by blobecks



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, M/M, but its not wildly explicit, hm, i havent betad it so like, theres a mention of them fucking hence the rating, this is quite shit i will give u fair warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blobecks/pseuds/blobecks
Summary: The kind of red that is equal parts romance and passion, war and rage.





	chewing on your taste

**Author's Note:**

> i really love the idea of eddie seeing colours for richie ??? idk man i just love that  
> the title comes from ‘australia street’ by sticky fingers

Richie has always been a bright, cherry red. Loud, hurts your eyes, always manages to draw your attention.

The kind of red that could rival a stop light, matches one of Eddie’s old inhalers, the colour they make candy out of. It’s the sickly sweet cherry medicine taste that makes you gag a little, stains your lips and tongue, makes your fingers sticky. The kind of red that is equal parts romance and passion, war and rage.

Not all of Richie is red; some parts of him are more muted, different. Richie’s singing voice is pavement grey; rough and scratchy, easy to scrape your knees up on, twisting and winding alongside the road. It guides you, keeps you safe and keeps you on track. Eddie has fallen asleep many times to a voice that sounds a little more like wet pavement; smooth, darker, pulling you in like quicksand.

Richie’s anxiety is a bright lime green; glaringly obvious, a little like his cherry red. Eddie saw it back in 2002 at the local clinic, both of them awaiting their results with hearts in throats and palms sweaty with fear. It oozed all around him like washing detergent, screaming _go go go, no more waiting or stopping_. When they both came back negative it was immediately replaced by the soft blue of Eddie’s sweater, comfort and safety and the smell of fresh laundry.

He has harder days, deep purples that hover around him like smoke clouds. The kind of purple that conjures up comical ideas of magic, clouds of dust in the depths of space, grape candies. Eddie has seen a little girl down the road from them who wears jeans in the same colour. On those days, all Eddie can really do is sit next to him and try not to choke on the dark fog, opaque and suffocating.

Richie is a hot pink when he’s fucking Eddie, blindingly passionate and restless, pulling them both into a haze where sweat rolls down from behind his ears and the spot where his leg is slung over Richie’s shoulder. The open-mouthed kisses he presses against Eddie’s neck, the low groans and his slow, deep movements push Eddie into a state of being where everything smells like perfume and tastes like strawberry.

When they come down, Richie is peach; soft, gentle, friendly, nothing but love that shines through in his sparkling eyes and freckled cheeks. It washes over them in the soft kisses they exchange and the way he clutches Eddie against him like a starving man, the way he smiles at Eddie like he put the sun that shines through their window in the sky. Eddie could spend the entirety of his life bathing in it, a smile gracing his lips and the sweet tang of fruit on his tongue.

They’re much older when they’re back in that awful fucking sewer, and the pain of having his arm torn off is so intense that he doesn’t really feel it. All he can really process through the darkness creeping in at the edge of his vision and the ringing in his ears is the arms breaking his fall, supporting his head, shaking against his side.

Richie is orange, desperate and urgent, helpless. It’s almost like his peach, but it’s something darker, sadder. Eddie can’t really understand what’s happening, but he can see the tears rolling down Richie’s cheeks and the pain in his eyes. The name ‘Eds’ cuts through the dust swirling around him, and Eddie can’t help the  _don’t call me that_ that rolls so easily off his dry tongue.

Richie laughs, and Eddie’s heart aches weakly with how much he loves Richie, and before he can finish telling him _you know I love you_ , his mouth goes dry and everything is swallowed by the black.

He spends ages in the white. He doesn’t really know exactly how long, there’s no way for him to determine the time, the date, what year it is. The white reminds him of cleanliness, sterile environments, the taste and smell of antiseptic that he was very familiar with in his childhood. It’s frightening and imposing, and he doesn’t really know how his arm is suddenly back and his clothes unstained, and he’s 19 again.

At some point, a door opens, and he walks out of the dusty Neibolt house onto the empty streets of Derry. Not really knowing where he’s headed, he wanders towards the quarry and finds a boy seated on the rocks. He calls out, and the curly head turns, eyes brimming with tears and mouth stretching into a joyous cry. Stan leaps from the rock, and Eddie remembers his teal, the apprehension and sadness but the beauty and clarity.

The two of them spend day after day in town, at the library, watching movies, eating ice-cream. Eddie never asks where they are or how Stan is here, and the two of them agree that there’s something missing, like they’re waiting for something or someone. Eddie feels like he’s still missing his arm; there’s someone very important he left behind.

Bev comes through next, leafy green and joyous. They run towards each other and sob as they embrace, and her eyes shimmer in a way that reminds Eddie of summer and freedom. Mike is next, lemon yellow happiness and wisdom that brings Stan to his knees with sobs and memories of a young love that time and distance stole away from them.

Ben and Bill come through together, wise forest green and noble burgundy. Beverly’s smile is huge beneath her endless tears, hands gripping tightly at Ben and his pine tree happiness. Bill is sandwiched between Mike and Stan, velvet reds draped over them almost protectively.

Eddie feels a tug deep in his stomach, urging him to wait, _there’s one more to come_. The others stay with him, and deep down he somehow knows they feel it too.

The last piece comes through eventually, stumbling down the stairs and landing in a messy heap at the bottom. Dark curls, a dusty jean jacket and a raspy ‘holy fucking hell’ that steals the breath from Eddie’s lungs, because he’s finally there with them, with the _losers_.

And when Richie turns and sees the brunette boy with love in his eyes and tears on his cheeks, his smile splits his face and everything erupts in cherry red that sticks to eddies skin and smells like cinnamon, pressing up against his face, drying his tears, finally bringing Eddie back home.


End file.
